Somewhere an insomniac
Has too many galaxies in his chest.
He smothers the pages of his notebooks,
With an assembly of stars.
Buds of his mind bloom into nebulae
He stays up,
And he waters his abyss.
A cloud settles on his pillow
Before he falls deeply
Into the Earth’s crust,
Where he dreams of the day he’ll be in bed
And melt into its core.